


Crawling Back To You

by Dexterous_Sinistrous



Series: Tumblr Prompt Requests [12]
Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Canon-Typical Violence, Demon Derek Hale, Explicit Language, M/M, Sexual Content, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 14:43:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4923607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dexterous_Sinistrous/pseuds/Dexterous_Sinistrous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles is mortally injured, with his life hanging in the balance, Derek makes his way to the crossroads, a place he once heard of from elder family members. He heard that there was a creature there who parades as a man or woman, prepared to give you whatever you wanted, for a price. But to Derek, there is no price too high to pay if it means Stiles lives.</p><p>Prompt: "Hey! Sterek prompt, with demon!Derek being possessed and messing with the pack and Stiles as they try to reverse it. Bonus kudos if includes Supernatural references/crossover!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crawling Back To You

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr to fill a prompt request ([x](http://dexterous-sinistrous.tumblr.com/post/130410757812/hey-sterek-prompt-with-demonderek-being))
> 
>  **IMPORTANT** : The demon possessing Derek is one making threats/attempts of rape against Stiles. All sex between Stiles and Derek is consensual.
> 
> Oh. My. WORD. What is with all the angst you guys keep sending me? I know I excel at it, but you could try to send me some fluffy prompts. I saw there was a few down the list, but there is so much angst until then. UGH.
> 
> Here is your wonderful, mandatory angst, and it falls under both Teen Wolf and Supernatural fandoms. I hope you enjoy.

Derek didn’t have to be in the room to hear the doctors telling the Sheriff it wasn’t looking good. He didn’t have to be in the room to hear the constant beeping of the machines keeping Stiles alive. He didn’t have to be in the room to hear Scott breaking down as he held his best friend’s hand. He didn’t have to know that Scott was going to offer giving Stiles the bite; that he was going to ask the Sheriff for permission to save his son. He didn’t have to know the Sheriff was skeptical, afraid that Stiles’ body would reject the bite, or that he’d be angry at being turned.

Derek didn’t have to second-guess himself. He knew he made the choice the minute he saw Stiles’ unconscious body hit the ground—the minute he had Stiles in his arms, draining his pain away as Scott broke the speed limit as they hurried to the hospital.

That was how Derek ended up at the crossroads.

“Derek Hale,” a voice stated.

Derek immediately turned to look at the owner, coming face to face with an unknown man. He was about Derek’s age, looking completely out of place on the dirt road with his expensive suit. He had his hands shoved into his pockets as he took a few steps closer.

“What on earth could you be doing here?” The young man asked with a sly smile crossing his lips.

Derek remained silent as he turned to look at his Camaro. He knew the pack would be furious, telling him to walk away and never think of this place again. But all he could think of was Stiles, laying in that hospital bed with machines keeping him alive.

“You know, demons don’t like being summoned just to be given the silent treatment,” the man stated as he carefully watched Derek.

“I was told that you made deals,” Derek started.

The man smiled, removing his hand from his pocket to run his thumb over his bottom lip in thought. “Derek Hale, son of Talia Hale, the last of the Hale shifters, wants to make a deal.” His eyes suddenly flooded completely black as he smiled at Derek. “Now, what could have brought this on? The brutal murder of your family, Laura’s death at the hands of Peter, all the pain you suffered, and you never came here before.”

Derek looked away from the demon.

“You’re not supposed to head downstairs, you know,” the demon stated as it kicked up some dirt. “You have a spot upstairs. With mommy and daddy,” it paused for looking at Derek. “With Laura.”

Derek stared at the demon, uncertain what it was trying to accomplish. “Doesn’t that mean you want my soul then?”

The demon smiled. “I want everyone’s soul. But yours? Yours is special.”

“And why’s that?”

“Protector of Beacon Hills. A werewolf. Getting you out of the way will open up the possibilities for Beacon Hills. For the Nemeton.” It paused, turning to completely face him now. “So tell me, Derek, is this kid worth it?”

“He’s going to die,” Derek replied.

“He’s going to die,” the demon echoed. “Do you want him to live? Because if you do this, you can’t have that life with him.”

“Why do you care?” Derek bitterly asked.

“I don’t,” it plainly stated. “I just like to know I make the rules very clear and simple in case someone tries to back out of it.”

“He’ll be alive?” Derek asked, ignoring the demon’s words.

“Is that what you want?”

Derek paused, thinking about what Stiles would say. “I thought you knew who I was,” he quietly stated.

“I know that you’re hopelessly in love with the kid,” the demon replied. It smiled when Derek didn’t respond. “Now, are you ready to make that deal?”

~*~

Stiles paced through the loft, waiting for his phone to ring in hope that one of the pack found Derek. He knew something happened the minute his lungs gasped for another breath. He knew when Scott refused to answer him when he asked where Derek was.

Stiles turned around when he heard the loft door slide open. He held his breath when Derek walked in, shrugging out of his leather jacket as if nothing was wrong—as if the pack hadn’t been scrambling to find him.

“Derek,” Stiles uttered his name in a shaky breath as he took the few necessary steps to stand in front of him, holding back his urge to hug him.

Derek looked up, an unfamiliar smile crossing his lips as he tossed his jacket to the side.

Stiles’ eyes followed after the jacket. He looked back at Derek, his eyebrows furrowing as he carefully watched him. _Something wrong_.

“Where were you?” Stiles finally asked.

“I had to run a few errands,” Derek explained, placing his hand on Stiles shoulder as he passed by him.

Stiles turned his head to look after him. “That’s it?”

“What’s it?” Derek asked, turning his attentions towards the fridge.

“Derek, we’ve all been worried about you,” Stiles stated in an angered tone, knowing that something must be wrong with him based on the way he was acting.

“Why?” Derek asked as he rooted through the fridge. He easily snapped the cap off of the beer bottle he retrieved, lifting the glass to his lips as he tasted the bitter liquid. It had been a while, and the feeling of the liquid tingling the back of his throat sated some type of deep longing. He paused when he heard the sound of metal scraping against something, Stiles’ movements becoming rigid and frightened.

Stiles stood his ground as he aimed the gun at Derek.

Derek smirked around the beer bottle, his eyes moving over to Stiles. He set the bottle down on the counter, turning his body to face Stiles. “You going to shoot me, Stiles?” He questioned, amused by the very thought of Stiles pointing a gun at him.

“You’re not Derek Hale,” Stiles stated, pulling the hammer back, cocking the gun Argent left him incase anyone dropped by before the pack got back. “Who are you, and where the hell is Derek?”

Derek laughed, a laugh Stiles had rarely heard Derek laugh—but something was different, almost twisted, about this laugh. “You’re not going to shoot me, Stiles,” he stated as he walked towards him, a dangerous air to the way he moved. “Besides,” he stated, pressing his chest up against the barrel in a definite taunt for Stiles to pull the trigger. “I’d only heal.”

Stiles considered what Not-Derek said, running through the scenarios and how he could come through unscathed. He finally started to lower the gun, catching the way Not-Derek’s lips began to form a sneer at the action. He pulled the trigger when he had it aimed at his abdomen, stepping back as Not-Derek loudly swore. He stumbled back when Not-Derek looked up at him, his eyes bled completely black.

“That was stupid,” Not-Derek growled.

“Wolfsbane, asshole,” Stiles glared back at him, watching the way the bullet practically glowed in reaction to searing Not-Derek’s skin. He moved quick enough to grab his discarded baseball bat—the one Derek let him keep there. He swung the baseball bat as hard as he could, slamming it against Not-Derek’s head, knocking him unconscious.

~*~

“I shattered my bat on his head,” Stiles stated to Scott as Lydia finished drawing the Devil’s Trap on the floor.

“He’s out because of the wolfsbane bullet,” Lydia explained as she stood. “You would have pissed that thing off if you hit it with just your bat. We left it in as long as possible, but he’s going to be waking up any minute now.”

“So it isn’t Derek?” Scott asked as he lifted the chair they had him tied to back into the center of the Devil’s Trap.

“It’s his body,” Lydia stated. “That’s why the wolfsbane weakened him. A demon would have pushed that bullet out like it was nothing. But it’s possessing a werewolf.”

“A technicality I don’t intend to overlook again,” Derek grumbled as he lifted his head. He looked back and forth between the pack members before he rolled his head, working the kinks out of his neck. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have places to go, people to see.”

“Too bad,” Scott stated from just outside the Devil’s Trap. “You’re going to have to get comfortable.”

Derek released a huff of annoyance, taking in his surroundings and the four teenagers there. He turned his head to the side, noticing the absence of a few people he assumed he’d see.

“Where’s the hunter and the cop?” Derek asked, noticing the way Scott tensed at that question.

“None of your business,” Scott stated.

“In other words, they’re trying to use Argent’s connections to find something,” Derek stated in a bored tone. “It would warm Derek’s heart to know that the same man whose family destroyed his life is trying to save it now.”

“Derek forgave Argent,” Stiles snapped. “He forgave him because he _has_ a heart.”

“Stiles, don’t,” Lydia stated as she rested her hand on his arm.

Derek smiled as he observed the way Stiles agreed with Lydia.

“I’m fine, Lydia,” Stiles stated louder than intended when Lydia asked if he was okay with staying.

“This is going to be fun,” Derek announced to himself.

About an hour passed before Derek spoke again, destroying the pack’s concentration as they pored over their books for a solution.

“You’re never going to get him back,” Derek’s voice caught Stiles’ attention.

Stiles turned to look at him.

Derek was relaxed as much as the chair allowed him, his head hanging over the back of the headrest. He was staring at the ceiling as he listened to the others bustling around, all avoiding the Devil’s Trap the red head— _Lydia, Stiles called her_ —had painted into the loft’s floor. He lifted his head, noticing they were all ignoring him. All except Stiles. He smiled at that.

“He made the deal. I kept up my end of the bargain,” Derek’s smile expanded when Stiles turned his attention to Scott in confusion. “You didn’t tell him, did you?” He turned his head to look at Scott. “That’s sad.”

“Shut up,” Scott barked at him. He avoided looking at Stiles.

“I think the kid deserves to know what everyone was willing to do for him,” Derek feigned innocence. “After all, his boyfriend’s burning in hell.” He smiled when Scott lurched forward to attack him, getting one foot into the Devil’s Trap.

“Scott!” Stiles quickly called his name as he grabbed his best friend’s shoulder, pulling him back out of the Devil’s Trap.

“Yeah, Scott,” Derek mockingly mimicked Stiles’ tone, a smug grin pulling at his lips when Scott glared at him.

“What is he talking about?” Stiles quietly asked Scott, ignoring Derek.

“The part about Derek burning in hell,” Derek’s voice interrupted them. “Or the part about what everyone was willing to do for you?”

Stiles ignored him as he kept his eyes on his best friend.

“It’s kind of ironic when you think of it,” Derek’s voice continued as the silence grew between Scott and Stiles. “Derek avoided the fire that killed his entire family, only to end up in an eternity of fire.”

Stiles couldn’t stop himself from look at Derek. Only, he knew it wasn’t Derek. He had no hopes that Derek was somewhere in there, not when the thing possessing his body was talking like that. He stared at Derek’s body, realizing that that was all it was now. It was Derek’s body, completely empty and vacant of the man he fell in love with a few years ago. The thing that was possessing his body merely smiled at Stiles when it realized it had his attention. Stiles felt his stomach churn and uncurl with the need to vomit when it winked at him.

It suddenly began to whistle, moving its head to the rhythm. “Love is a burning thing, and it makes a fiery ring. Bound by wild desire. I fell into a ring of fire,” it laughed, continuing to sing. “I fell into a burning ring of fire, I went down, down, down, and the flames went higher. And it burns, burns, burns.”

“Why the hell didn’t you put duct tape on his mouth?” Lydia finally huffed.

“Where is the fun in that, Lydia?” It asked, turning Derek’s head to look at her.

“Don’t talk to me,” Lydia snapped.

“Or what?” Its voice grew deeper, sounding as if it wanted Lydia to act on her unspoken threat. “You’ll cry about Derek being dead like you did with Allison?”

It wasn’t hard for everyone to see Lydia’s body become completely rigid.

“You can put on a painted mask to hide from the world, but not from me, Lyds,” it grinned when she looked at it.

“It’s not Derek,” Scott stated the obvious, trying to convince everyone to ignore it.

“Oh, I’m all that’s left of him, now,” it smiled, more to itself than any of them. “It would be wasting such a good thing to not take his body out for a test drive.” It turned Derek’s head to the side, looking right at Stiles. “Can still take him for a _ride_ , if you want. I wouldn’t complain.”

Kira didn’t hesitate when she threw the holy water into the Devil’s Trap, causing it to recoil as the water burned Derek’s skin. It looked at her with eyes briefly flickering black.

“You’re nothing compared to the other things we’ve faced. And we’ll defeat you too,” Scott defiantly stated.

It shocked everyone as it started to laugh. It ducked Derek’s head, amused with Scott’s threat. “Scotty, Scott, Scott,” it replied in a tut-tut tone. “What do you care? You don’t even _like_ him. You tolerated him at best, because you knew how pathetic your best friend got when in the same room as him.”

Scott’s fists tightened, resisting his urge to tackle the thing from the chair, pulverizing it if it would mean it would stop using Derek’s face.

“You used his Alpha spark to bite Gerard—the father of the woman who tore his entire life apart; the woman who raped him and then murdered his family,” it continued. “You told him his family _deserved_ it. And yet what did he do? He stuck by the whiny, pathetic teenager you are and helped you survive this nightmare of a life.”

“You know nothing about us,” Lydia stated. “And you know nothing about the man Derek Hale is.”

“I _saw_ inside him,” it nearly barked, bleeding Derek’s once welcoming green eyes completely black, leering at the way the others flinched in response. “I saw the pain and guilt inside of him. How broken and hollowed out he was. You think he’s worth saving, but you are so wrong. He knew it, but you won’t accept it, will you? Because without him around, there’s no one to blame—no one to take responsibility for your actions.”

“Say whatever you want, you’re the one that stole his life,” Scott hollowly replied.

It laughed. “Derek Hale died a long time ago. I just gave him the release he’s always wanted.”

~*~

“Do you love him?”

Stiles spun around in response to look at the demon. The others were still at Deaton’s, trying to discover if the Druid had anything to help expel the demon and restore Derek’s soul. Scott had reluctantly left Stiles with it, only after Stiles argued with him that he wasn’t an idiot—that he knew that thing wasn’t Derek.

“I’m not playing this game,” Stiles dryly responded.

“It’s not a game,” it replied. “I just want to know.”

“I thought you knew everything about us weak mortal things?” Stiles snapped.

A small private smile pulled at Derek’s lips as it released an amused huff. It was so Derek-like that Stiles had to turn his eyes away.

“God, he loved you,” it softly replied, as if it couldn’t understand the emotion.

“Stop trying to rile me up,” Stiles replied.

“I’m not. I’m just baffled by this.”

“What?”

“That you both could feel so deeply for each other but ignore it,” it explained. “He sold his soul to a demon for you. Do you realize how amazing that is? People have been coming to the crossroads for centuries—begging for fame, wealth, better looks—always looking for something to gain for themselves. But Derek?” It shook Derek’s head back and forth. “He made the deal without even attempting to renegotiate.”

“Stop it,” Stiles snapped, looking at the demon. “I know you’re not him—you could never _be_ him. You know how I knew you weren’t him the minute you walked in those doors? You walk differently than he does. You look right through me. You say more than you have to in order to answer me. You’re nothing like Derek Hale, even when parading around in his body.”

It simply watched Stiles, leaving Derek’s face an empty expression as it evaluated Stiles. “You really like him. I think that’s the cherry on top of all this,” it mused. “You both twisted and stumbled around the truth for a long time, but were too afraid to admit it. But now that it’s too late … what? You think challenging me is going to change his fate?”

“We have to try,” Stiles replied.

“You made him feel something,” it finally admitted. “I wasn’t lying when I said I looked inside of him. His soul was as hollowed out and charred as his family home was. But you made him—forced him—to feel something again. That’s why he did this. He didn’t do it to have that one last chance to tell you how he felt. He did it because he couldn’t live in a world where the last thing he loved died.”

“Nothing you say is going to make me let you out,” Stiles started, ignoring the tears that burned his eyes.

The demon reared its head back, understanding crossing Derek’s features. “You love him, don’t you?”

Stiles scoffed, positive the demon was baiting him again.

“No, you _really_ love him,” the demon clarified, as if it’s early inquiry wasn’t asking whether Stiles loved Derek or not. “You’ve both been lying to each other about it.”

“Why are you bothering with this?” Stiles finally asked, tears still evident.

“Because,” it leaned forward in the chair, closely watching Stiles. “When I finally get out of this trap—and I _will_ get out of this trap—I want the full satisfaction of knowing that you know how much Derek Hale loves you,” it softly explained. “And I want you to know how much pleasure I’m going to get from ripping your _fucking throat out with his teeth_. After we’re done having a little fun together, of course.”

Stiles turned his attention away from the demon, ignoring the fear boiling up in his stomach. He wanted the others to hurry up and get back here. He wanted to leave the loft and only return once that thing left Derek’s body.

“You know, I’m going to have a lot of fun with you, right? A lot more fun than Derek ever got to have, anyways,” the demon continued, but this time it sounded more confident. “I almost wish he was here for this.”

“For what?” Stiles asked as he turned around to face him. His eyes widened in fear when he saw the chair suddenly splintered into pieces, Derek standing tall in the middle of the Devil’s Trap.

The demon rolled Derek’s shoulders, his eyes closed as his head rotated to sort out the uncomfortable kinks in his joints from being confined.

Stiles took an unsteady step backwards when Derek’s eyes opened, irises completely black. He knew he looked panicked as he moved to put more space between them, only to have the demon confirm it as an amused smile crossed Derek’s lips.

“Your friends might find a way to banish me from this body, but they’re not going to find a way to get him back,” the demon started, slowly advancing towards the outer ring of the circle, forcing Stiles to take just as many steps backwards. “Which is really disappointing, because after I’m done with you, he’d gladly give his soul up if it meant he’d stop feeling.”

“You could have broken out of that at any moment, couldn’t have you?” Stiles weakly questioned. “But you waited.”

“Go ahead, Stiles,” the demon paused its steps, watching Stiles closely. “Ask.”

“Why?” Stiles weakly asked, his voice croaking.

The demon tilted Derek’s head to the side, eyeing Stiles’ body carefully. “Because with them gone, it’s just you and me.”

Stiles eyes flickered around the room, waiting to find something that hinted that the demon could escape. His eyes finally landed back on the demon, confusion covering his features.

The demon gently shook Derek’s head before finally looking down at the Devil’s Trap.

Stiles couldn’t stop his eyes from following the movement. His stomach dropped, twisting and knotting when he noticed some of the white symbols of the Devil’s trap were smudged underneath Derek’s boots.

“You didn’t think the whole white chalk and holy water combination through, did you?” The demon finally explained.

Stiles didn’t respond, instantly turning his body to make a dash for the loft door. His strides were wide and quick, his heartbeat pounding in his ears blocked out his ability to hear if the demon was chasing him. His fingertips barely gripped the door handle when a foreign hand suddenly slipped into his hair, fingers harshly tightening like pistons. The hand had his head in a vice grip, before swiftly jerking his head forward, slamming his face into the door in order to disorient him.

Stiles cried out in pain, moving a hand back to claw at the hand in his hair. He gasped when another hand clasped tightly around his throat, claws prickling his skin as they slowly drew droplets of blood.

“You could have enjoyed this, you know,” Derek’s voice spoke into his ear, the demon restraining Stiles’ body against Derek’s. “That’s why I came back to the loft. I followed your sweet little scent back here. You’re so desperate for him, you stink of it.”

“Fuck. You,” Stiles wheezed out as he dug his fingernails into Derek’s hand, trying to get the demon to flinch enough to give him an opening. He knew they were a poor choice of words, even before the demon laughed.

“Don’t worry,” the demon lowly stated. “I planned on fucking you the minute Derek showed up at the crossroads for you. I had to know what was worth selling his soul over.” It easily maneuvered Stiles back towards the small counter that served as the barrier separating the kitchen from the living room.

Stiles gasped when the demon released its grip on his throat, giving him time to breathe before it forced his hands up onto the counter. He tried his best to struggle, pulling both his hands against the death grip the demon hand both his wrists in.

The demon easily used one hand to pin Stiles, slotting one knee between Stiles legs to stop him from moving. “If you don’t stop struggling, I’ll break your arms, followed by your legs,” it stated in Stiles’ ear.

“I’m not going to make this easy for you,” Stiles defiantly snapped.

“That makes it better.” Its breath was hot and unwelcomed against the shell of Stiles’ ear.

Stiles repetitively yanked his arms back, desperate to loosen the demon’s grip on him. He felt the hopelessness sink into his gut as he struggled. He once thought that maybe he had a roughness kink, thinking that he wouldn’t mind having sex like this with Derek. But this was the demon taking that away—taking his consent away from him as it used Derek’s body to commit a crime against one of his pack.

“Stop worrying, Stiles,” it spoke—almost breaking through his prayers that Scott would hurry back—as it used Derek’s hand to unfasten his jeans, letting them fall around his ankles. “I’m sure some part of you will enjoy finally being able to be with him.”

“Don’t,” Stiles’ voice was weak, on the verge of breaking as he prayed he would never link this to any of his fond memories of Derek. He closed his eyes when it used Derek’s free hand to grab his chin, turning his face to look at him.

“Open your eyes and look at me or I’ll split your eyelids open,” it rumbled Derek’s voice low in his chest as it threatened him.

Stiles reluctantly opened his eyes, hating that the demon was letting Derek’s eyes look back at him. He wished the few stray tears didn’t spill from his eyes, feeling sick when it gingerly brushed them away with Derek’s fingers.

“I lied to you,” it admitted, carefully studying Stiles’ face. “I lied when I said Derek was in hell.”

Stiles’ eyes widened.

“He’s in here, and when he _feels_ what I’m going to do to you,” it paused, closing Derek’s eyes as it released an amused laugh. “He’s doing one hell of a job fighting this right now, but he’s going to want to be dead after I’m done.”

Stiles tried to struggle some more, almost getting one hand out of the vice grip the demon had Derek’s hand in around his own. He tried harder when it laughed, his stomach churning and tumbling when it forced his head back to nip at his jugular.

“You have no idea how often he dreamed of fucking you like this,” it stated. “Of you begging for it like a wanton whore.” It pressed Derek’s forehead against the back of Stiles’ head, grazing his nose against Stiles’ ear as it closed Derek’s eyes. It inhaled before lightly chuckling. “Of you saying you loved him.”

“I do,” Stiles’ voice was quiet, almost inaudible. “I do love him, and when we get him back, I still will,” he defiantly added in a louder voice.

“What makes you think you’re going to survive this?” It answered. “Once I’m done with you, like everything else in Derek’s life, you’ll go up in smoke.” It paused, allowing the words to sink in. “I think there is something poetic about everything Derek loves being destroyed by fire. Once you _burn_ , he’ll have nothing.”

Stiles struggled, thrashing his body as best he could, slamming his head back into Derek’s, catching the demon off guard enough to almost get free. The demon grabbed Stiles’ arm, slamming him back into the counter, this time facing him.

The counter cut into Stiles’ lower back, forcing him to wince in pain. He had managed to get his pants precariously up around his hips before pressing his hands against Derek’s chest in an attempt to placate the situation.

“I’d rather you be conscious, Stiles,” the demon stated, using Derek’s claws to press in against Stiles’ hipbones.

“Okay, okay,” Stiles winced in pain, his fingers twisting in Derek’s shirt. “Can I at least talk to him?” He asked, a little surprised when the demon reared Derek’s head back in surprise.

“You want to talk to him,” it practically growled back.

“If you’re going to _rape_ and _murder_ me before taking his soul to hell, I think I deserve to at least say goodbye to him,” Stiles defiantly stated, glaring back at the demon as if his entire body wasn’t shaking.

“You think you can change how he’ll feel when this is all over?” It asked. “You think that he won’t be reliving this nightmare in his own personal corner of hell?”

“I think he deserves to know that I love him, and would never blame him for this,” Stiles finally confessed, hoping that Derek was still inside his body, fighting the demon for control. He prayed for the mercy that Derek could hear his words—that he knew it wasn’t his fault.

Derek’s head suddenly shot to the side, his eyes closing as a sharp growl echoed through his chest. He bared his teeth, sharp canines showing through his parted lips.

“Stiles,” Derek grumbled. “You have to get out. Now.” His hands trembled, releasing his hold on Stiles as he backed away.

“Derek,” Stiles called his name.

“Stiles. Go,” Derek gritted out as he fought against the demon’s hold.

Stiles backed away, almost tripping over his feet as he struggled to get to the door. His eyes lingered on Derek as he struggled with him. He was startled when the loft door opened, turning his head to see Argent burst through the door, Stiles’ dad following suit with two men he’d never seen before.

“Move, kid,” the man in the leather jacket quickly stated as he pushed Stiles back towards the Sheriff.

“Kiddo, you okay?” The Sheriff asked immediately, his hands settling on his son’s shoulders. His eyes scanned his son’s body, quickly taking in the dishevelment of his clothes.

Stiles was too busy watching the two strangers move forward to approach Derek.

“You said he’s a werewolf too?” The taller stranger asked Argent as he kept his distance from Derek.

Something in Derek’s stance changed, immediately straightening his back as he rolled his shoulders. Stiles had seen his body react that way once before—when the demon was parading around as him.

“Winchesters,” Derek’s voice laughed in response to the names. “I wouldn’t have figured they’d know you.”

“You guys all tend to forget that hunters know each other,” the man in the leather jacket stated.

“And you just thought, what?” It questioned as it turned Derek’s body to face them. “That you’d mount a rescue? He made the deal at the crossroads for him—” it used Derek’s hand to gesture towards Stiles. “He knew the outcome. He made the deal to save him.”

The Winchesters turned to look at Stiles, the taller one casting the other a disappointed look.

“Then, this isn’t a possession, it’s—”

“A deal being recanted,” it stated as it crossed Derek’s arms over his chest.

“Derek wouldn’t be stupid enough—” Argent started.

“When it comes to Stiles, he’s an idiot,” it remarked.

“Dean … if Derek traded his soul for a crossroads’ deal,” the taller Winchester began.

“Then he’s already in hell and that body is empty,” Dean finished.

“No,” Stiles protested, catching everyone’s attention. “It said Derek was still in his body.”

“So, what will it be?” Dean asked as he looked back at the demon. “Exorcism or death.” He displayed a knife with intricate designs decorating the blade.

The demon flickered eyes between the Winchesters, a small smile gracing his lips. “We both know you can’t exorcise anything without a book in front of you, Dean. It’d have to be the smart brother. Isn’t that right, Sam?” It taunted as it flickered Derek’s eyes over to the taller Winchester. “And are they really going to let you threaten the life of their friend? You can’t kill me without killing Derek.”

“Werewolf,” Argent stated with a somewhat satisfactory smirk.

Stiles tried to move forward, fear for Derek’s life gripping him as his dad held him back. He almost yelled when the skirmish broke out, everything happening faster than he thought possible. He heard a scream—he was sure it was his own—when he saw Dean successfully plant the knife in Derek’s chest.

Stiles stumbled when his dad finally released him, running forward as he shoved past Dean and Sam to get to Derek. He pulled the knife out, allowing it to clatter against the floor as he inspected Derek’s vitals. He looked up at the loft’s door when he heard rushed footsteps, relieved to see Scott running in with the others in tow.

Scott reacted immediately, running to Stiles and Derek’s side. He knelt beside Derek, slipping his hand into his as he started to drain all the pain he could.

“Are they _all_ werewolves?” Dean asked Argent in surprise.

“They’re a pack,” Argent replied.

“How did you get here so quickly?” Sam asked.

“I’m a banshee,” Lydia stated, noticing the way Sam and Dean looked at her before looking at each other.

“That’s one we haven’t run into,” Dean offered with a shrug.

“I predict things by usually screaming in people’s faces,” Lydia dryly stated. “I had a vision about the demon—about you two coming here.”

Both Winchesters didn’t appear to be fazed by the new information.

Stiles ignored them as he focused on Derek, cradling his head in his lap as he watched the black lines draining from his arm and into Scott’s. “Is it working?” He weakly asked.

“I think so,” Scott stated. “His pulse is weak, but there,” he explained.

Stiles ran his fingers through Derek’s hair, concentrating on everything Derek as he prayed for him to open his eyes.

It took what felt like forever before Derek’s chest inflated with a large breath, his lungs finally pumping life back into his body. Stiles smiled, releasing a watery laugh of utter relief, when Derek opened his eyes. Without thinking, he leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on Derek’s forehead.

“Don’t ever leave me,” Stiles quietly uttered, his fingertips massaging small circles into Derek’s hand as he closed his eyes in relief.

Derek remained silent as he clung to Stiles, holding onto him in hopes that he would never have to relive what almost happened. What the demon almost did to Stiles because of Derek. Those thoughts slowly fell away from him as Stiles’ fingers moving through his hair steadied him, proving that Stiles wasn’t afraid of him—he was holding him close.

~*~

“Its name was Dantalion,” Lydia explained, her eyes lingering on Stiles and Derek, waiting for a sign to continue. She had remained behind with Derek and Stiles once everyone else had left, the Winchesters having an unceremonious departure. She waited in order to check on both of them, yet she was uncertain they even registered that she was there. “A spirit of Solomon. He was capable of seeing into the thoughts of humans—seeing the most intimate details of their life. He could change how we think, how we feel, anything. He was a great duke of Hell, according to some of the Winchesters’ books.” She paused, noting the way Stiles slipped his hand into Derek, pulling Derek against his chest as he rested his chin on Derek’s shoulder. She frowned when she realized Derek wasn’t responding to Stiles, staring out the loft’s window. “He prided himself in taking what people held dear and turning it into a nightmare.”

“Thanks, Lyds,” Stiles softly answered, stopping her from explaining more.

“Sure,” Lydia silently nodded, turning to exit in order to give them some privacy. She caught a glimpse of Derek finally falling back into Stiles’ embrace, letting him wrap his arms around him as Lydia shut the loft door.

~*~

There are times Derek still wakes up, thinking that the demon is still lurking around him. He waits to be controlled, to feel that hopelessness that he will do terrible things he can never forgive himself for. He often wakes up in the early hours of the morning to stare at the clock—to stare at the exact same time he stumbled across the crossroads. He holds his breath as he waits for the clock to turn to the next minute before he can breathe easier.

The arm draped across Derek’s side is the anchor that holds him to reality. After the minute passes, he turns away from the clock in order to face the person he knows is sleeping there. He runs his fingertips over Stiles’ cheek, soaking in his features as he pushes closer to him.

Stiles always stirs from the contact, cracking an eye open before a soft, welcoming smile pulls at his lips. “We’re still here,” he automatically says, reaching his hand up from its spot across Derek’s waist, fingertips running across his chest. His nails slightly graze across the tattoo just under Derek’s collarbone—the matching one to Stiles’ own.

“You with me, babe?” Stiles asks when Derek doesn’t answer, his eyes tracing Stiles’ tattoo as Stiles’ fingers mimic the identical pattern on Derek’s chest.

“We’re still here,” Derek echoes Stiles’ earlier words.

Stiles leans in, placing a short, sweet kiss to Derek’s lips as he tucks himself snuggly against Derek’s body. His fingers remain tracing the anti-possession mark—thankful the Winchesters instructed Lydia to arrange for Derek to get it. He had forced himself to get one in the same spot, hoping that it would give both Derek and him some peace of mind.

“I love you,” Stiles sighs as his breath tickles Derek’s throat, his lips hovering over his Adam’s apple.

“I love you,” Derek echoes as he holds Stiles close.

Stiles pushes his hand against Derek’s chest, pressing him back into the bed as he clambers on top of him. He straddles his bare hips, the brush of skin on skin contact sending shivers of arousal through his body. He smiles when Derek takes a sharp intake of breath through his partially parted lips as his eyes shutter close. He splays his fingers across Derek’s chest, watching the way his chest hair easily parts under the brush of his hands. He leans down to kiss Derek when Derek’s hands settle on his hips, fingers squeezing tight to confirm that Stiles is in control.

Every night Derek wakes from his dreams, Stiles is always the one to turn Derek’s nightmares into fantasies. He is pliant and welcoming of Stiles’ moves, almost overjoyed when Stiles takes control. It’s moments like this that Derek truly enjoys Stiles being in control—of Stiles letting him in.

Stiles closes his eyes as he settles into Derek’s lap, an angelic sigh escaping his lips as he slowly pushes down onto Derek, taking his cock in one sure motion, still stretched from only a few hours ago. Stiles’ hips are precise in their movement, rolling in undulation as he rides Derek at a steady rhythm. He lets his head fall back, his lips part as Derek’s nails verge on claws, digging into his hipbones.

Derek lifts his head, his eyes focus on the way Stiles’ thighs flex through the action of rising and falling onto his cock. He watches the way he disappears into the tight heat of Stiles’ body. He steadies his breathing as he sets his head back against the pillow, hands traveling across Stiles’ taut stomach as he tries to take in what it means to feel Stiles this way.

“Oh, fuck, Derek,” Stiles moans as one particular thrust pushes Derek flush against his prostate. His hands fall against Derek’s chest, fingers dragging through his chest hair as his nails dig crescent shapes into his skin. He continues his rhythm, faltering slightly whenever Derek hits his prostate just right. He pants heavily, Derek’s name falling from his lips. He smiles when Derek flips them, turning them to press Stiles’ body into the bed.

Derek’s hands trace Stiles’ body, his hands gripping onto his shoulders as his body hunches over him. He stares down at Stiles as he keeps the pace even, pulling the wanton moans from his lithe body. He presses his forehead against Stiles when he feels his hands snake up between their bodies, Stiles’ open palms moving to hold Derek’s face against his.

“This is real,” Stiles breathlessly says against Derek’s lips. “We’re real.” His words hitch as he finally comes, calling out Derek’s name. His hips still try to meet Derek’s, a small attempt to pull Derek over the edge with him. “I love you.”

Derek can’t stop his orgasm from hitting him as those words reach his ears. He clutches Stiles against him, holding on for dear life as his hips spasm, his perfectly set rhythm falling apart. He ignores the way tears burn at his eyes, embracing the shower of Stiles’ soft and delicate kisses falling across his face. He remembers that this is real and the demon is gone. He remembers that he is the one Stiles is holding—that they are the ones sharing this.

Derek focuses Stiles’ breathing, his chest pressing against his own. He focuses on the way Stiles runs his hands through his hair, calming all his nerves. He focuses on the warmth in his chest as he realizes that this is real—he is real, and Stiles is willingly holding him in his arms.

He knows the demon is gone. He knows Stiles is with him. He knows, that despite it all, he’d crawl his way back to Stiles again and again, with hell itself unable to keep him from him.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to join me on tumblr:
> 
> [drunklightning](http://drunklightning.tumblr.com) is my blog where I reblog anything I find of interest.
> 
> [dexterous-sinistrous](http://dexterous-sinistrous.tumblr.com) is suited towards my ramblings about my writing, and NSFW. (It's where I serenade myself about Sterek). It's my trashcan of emotions. Feel free to stop by and say hi, criticize me, make incoherent noises with me, whatevs.
> 
> [Send](http://dexterous-sinistrous.tumblr.com/ask) me any prompts you think you'd like to have me write!


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